


of anvils and hammers

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bickering, Character Study, Gen, Tarot, mysterious pasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: “Why do youdothat?” asks Beau, as she watches the two half-elf teenagers walk off. They’re giggling, nudging one another, whispering about the mystery and romance and drama Mollymauk’s cards - and his clever hands, his silver tongue - had promised for their futures. All for the low,lowprice of one silver coin apiece. It sits wrong in Beau’s gut, like waterfall-smoothed pebbles, to see people sohappyafter being stolen from.(In which Molly and Beau have a little chat.)





	of anvils and hammers

“Why do you  _do_  that?” asks Beau, as she watches the two half-elf teenagers walk off. They’re giggling, nudging one another, whispering about the mystery and romance and drama Mollymauk’s cards - and his clever hands, his silver tongue - had promised for their futures. All for the low,  _low_  price of one silver coin apiece. 

It sits wrong in Beau’s gut, like waterfall-smoothed pebbles, to see people so  _happy_  after being stolen from.

Humming to himself, flipping the _Silver Dragon_  card between his knuckles and watching the sunlight glint off the faded gold edging, Molly smiles. There are too many teeth, too sharp, his lips pulled back too far. Beau would never call him  _demon_ , even in her own head, but the hairs on the back of her neck sure as hell recognise the infernal in him when he smiles. “Do  _what_ , my dear?” he asks, sweetly, like he’s never sinned a day in his life.

Beau snorts. “Don’t fuck with me,” she says, though there’s little enough bite behind the words that Molly doesn’t take it personally. Or, rather,  _too_  personally - this is Beau, after all. “Why d’you lie to them like that? Scam them out of their money for parlor tricks. It’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think? Like…” Her mouth twists, as though she’s bitten into a lemon, and the amusement-creases around Molly’s red eyes deepen. “You’re an asshole, but you’re…  _kind of_ … sort of decent- _ish_ , most of the time. From what I’ve seen. I dunno, maybe you eat babies when I’m asleep or something-”

“Would you like me to invite you?” interrupts Molly, his Cheshire-cat grin widening all the way to his purple gums. “Next time I sneak out in search of babies to eat, I mean.”

“-but, this? Taking money from… from  _poor people_ , in exchange for lies?” Beau ignores him, with the careful practice of anyone who’s been travelling with Jester for longer than twenty-four hours. “How does that fit into that weird moral code of yours, huh?”

The smile slides off Molly’s face, slowly. “Look at them,” he says, gesturing to the two friends. One of them is trying to push the other into the gutter that runs along the street, now, and their laughter carries across the cobbles, along with the mocking kissy-kissy noises the other is making. “You think they care if it’s true? You think it  _matters_  to them, Beau? Say-  _just say_ \- I lied to them. I made it all up. So what? They’re not paying for the truth, they don’t  _want_  the truth. 

“What’d you have me say to them, hmm? That, oh, you’re probably gonna live and work in this shithole town your whole damned lives, marry men that treat you the same way your daddy does your mammy, and then die with six kids, no one at your bedside, and a whole parcel of abandoned dreams under your pillow?  _Fuck_  no.” Molly flips the _Silver Dragon_  back on top of the deck with a small, angry noise, tapping his blunted claws against the back of it. “They’re paying for a show. For amusement. For, just  _maybe_ , a little bit of hope. I’d be scamming them if I  _didn’t_  give them that.”

The silence holds between them for a moment, a thread of silk as fine as those woven into Mollymauk’s robe.

“…I’d rather know the truth than be happy,” says Beau, eventually, her voice quieter than Molly’s ever heard it. Her teeth are suddenly gritted, clenched so tight it’s making her skull ache, and there’s a muscle twitching in her jaw. “Any goddamn day. Being happy with lies? It’s no better than being fuckin’  _stupid._ ”

And then, as if she’s said too much, as if she can suddenly no longer bear the ache beneath her ribs- “…I’m going back to the tavern. Have fun scamming more poor people, asshole. Peace.”

She turns, and walks away.

Mollymauk watches her leave - watches the ramrod line of her spine, the tension in her shoulders, how she walks as though she’s got something to prove, and shuffles his cards. Lays them out in a line as straight as Beauregard’s spine.  _The Anvil, The Shadow, The Eye_ , they whisper, a lifetime of distrust and trauma told as simple as only the cards can.

He sighs, and gathers his cards up, cutting and shuffling them just to feel them glide through his hands. And he wonders, with a curiosity so fierce it near  _burns_ , what kind of childhood could hammer a girl into the shape of the woman that Beauregard is.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me @sparxwrites on tumblr for more critical role things.


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